The Nineteenth League Member
by AlpineSheep
Summary: Sir Charles Chesterton Worthsbyfeld IV (known by his friends as "Worthsby") never really was lucky, but when the bumbling society fop unwittingly enlists in the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel he sets off a grand series of misadventures destined to banish him forever from Orczy's writings altogether! Rated K-plus for mild swearing.
1. The Beginning (pt 1 and 2)

**A/N: **Hi all! So, ultimately my plan with this fic is to make each chapter like its own story so that it more or less developes like a collection of stories rather than one continuous one. However, that being said, the first "story" is quite long - it being the one to introduce the whole concept and detail 'how it all began' and all that good stuff, so I have mercifully divided it into three parts/two chapters. Just pretend its all one story like the rest will be! Also, I do not own Percy, Marguerite, Chauvelin, Jellyband, or any other league member besides poor old Worthsby - he is my own invention, partially inspired by Blakeney's fop persona. Other random characters belong to me! Mwahaha!

**Dedication: **

This story is gratefully dedicated to Kisses on the Steps for providing me with so much SP fan conversations, that my brain couldn't help but be inspired with a Scarlet Pimpernel fanfiction.

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**The Nineteenth League Member**

**The Personal Memoirs of Sir Charles Chesterton Worthsbyfeld IV**

**How It All Began **

**Pt I**

It has often been a matter of conjecture, just how exactly, I, Sir Charles Chesterton Worthsbyfeld IV, the dimmest fop in London, ever became a member of that illustrious band of men known as The League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. My father would never have believed me, had I ever dared tell him, for nothing could ever dissuade his certainty in my complete incompetence regarding even the simplest of deeds outside the realms of hunting and cravats. Indeed, I am hard pressed to make it out myself – a matter in which, my unfortunate lack of intelligence hinders me greatly. Even Baroness Orczy, our faithful chronicler, never mentioned me. Doubtless she could not bring herself to consider me a true league member, but kept the number of men at nineteen all the same thanks to the nice ring it had. And yes, for the record, in all technicality, I am the _eighteenth_ league member, as Armand St. Just was recruited after the initial formation. However, Armand is mentioned liberally by the Baroness in our escapades and so really factors among the top five league members, hardly worthy of the title of 'The Nineteenth League Member'. There is not much else I can lay claim to, so I might as well claim the title. In retrospect, I suppose knowing Blakeney had quite a bit to do with my enlistment. If I had never met him, it certainly would never have happened. Well, it should never have happened anyway, regardless…

I first met Sir Percy Blakeney one foggy afternoon after a stag hunt in the north country. I was scarcely one-and-twenty years of age, and had returned to the hunting lodge wet and cold but prosperous, having succeeded in shooting a twelve point buck at nearly a hundred yards. I am a demmed good shot if I do say so myself. Word of my success and my trophy attracted many of the other sportsman resting about, and one of them asked me to join him and his friends in a game of hazard. It turned out to be Sir Percy Blakeney, the prince of dandies, with his friends Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Antony Dewhurst. The game was splendid and continued on for hours, starting what was to be a friendly acquaintance that lasted as such for the next few years. I liked Blakeney. He was a jolly good sport, what? And was a master with cards. Also, one never had to bother with excessive thinking whilst in his company and could be free to chat about horses, fashion, and punch with very little fatigue to the mind. Besides, I never could seem to make any friends – most find me annoying and in school I was quite the despised outcast – but Blakeney was never in want of comrades and seemed to have somehow succeeded in attracting a loyal bevy of which I myself became a part. I didn't really see him that often, though, as he spent much of his time traveling while I faithfully attended all the society gatherings of London. However, I was always glad to see him when he would make an appearance, for I knew that at least here was a chap I could confide in. Someone to divert the critical eyes of the world from me with one hearty, inane laugh and accept me into his circle with the doggerel rhyme he'd invented himself, "There may be many things old Worthsby's not, but none can deny he's a demmed good shot." And so it was that I was present on that fateful night in August of '91.

It was in the latter stages of a fine society ball where I was rapidly losing at cards to Sir David Holte and even more rapidly consuming glasses of fine brandy that Percy entered the room looking…well… looking monstrous serious. He had been prone to fits of seriousness lately. I suspected it had something to do with his marriage to the cleverest woman in Europe, probably got him thinking and all that other dangerous nonsense, what?

"Fellows," he said gravely, noting the presence of each of his friends with a look, "I propose a meeting at my home, an you will all care to join me. There is something of the utmost importance I would discuss with you."

We all rose as one at these words. Well, almost as one. I attempted to rise and got my foot caught under my chair, an action that toppled it over on its side with a clatter and almost took me down with it. All eyes were on me in a moment as I sheepishly recovered my balance.

"T-terribly sorry lads," I blithered. Yes, it is an uncomfortable fact but I do stutter when I am agitated.

Ffoulkes gazed dubiously at me then murmured to Percy in a voice low enough that I presume I wasn't supposed to hear his words, "Even Charlie?"

Percy gave a very slight but firm nod, patting Andrew before turning to leave.

Ffoulkes gave me one last scrutinous glance and said, "Well then, everyone? High-ho and let's be off!"

Now that I think of it, I really don't know what I was expecting Percy to discuss with us. I suppose I trusted in his inanity, his laziness and his solid mental density enough so that I little suspected the ghastly enormity of what was about to happen. Thoughts of hunting trips, games of hazard and horse racing flitted through my tired and half-inebriated mind as possibilities. Whatever it was that Percy had in mind, it must be jolly grand. He was the very impersonation of everything I wanted to be, and if he had any plans or ideas for us, I was determined I should participate to the best of my ability.

We arrived at his home in Richmond and trailed into his so-called study. I knew better than to believe it to be one, however, for it was well equipped with furniture and I blessed Blakeney's taste for comfort as I sprawled across an inviting sofa, enveloped blissfully with cushions.

"Shove over and let me have some room!" Lord Everingham protested, attempting to dislodge my legs from their place of rest.

"Find your own seat!" I laughed and stifled a yawn. Consciousness was quickly eluding me as the hour was late and the level of spirits in my blood was quite high. However, I was awake enough to note that the others had found places to sit – most of them around Blakeney's desk in the corner behind my sofa. I didn't care for the moment that I was nowhere near the action. Sleep was calling to me and quickly becoming the most important item on my agenda. Soon, I was dreaming happily of a grand party in which I was the center of attention and king of fashionable society. I danced with all the pretty girls, talked with all the silly ones, and gave the intelligent ones the same cold distance they afforded me. It was glorious. All at once, Percy entered the room with a joyful smile – and an enormous bowl of the most delectable punch I had ever seen. We were invited to partake of it to our hearts content.

"My friends," he exclaimed, "who will join me in this?"

Cries of:

"I shall!"

"As shall I!"

And,

"To the ends of the earth I will follow you!"

Resounded from all the fellows gathered round.

I was not to be left out. But, in the exuberance of my approval, I woke myself up from the delightful dream as I sprang up and called out, "Gadzooks man, you can count me in, Blakeney!"

The punch bowl disappeared and I realized that I was now sitting up on the sofa in Blakeney's study and that eighteen pairs of eyes were fastened upon me – most not without a little surprise.

"Really, Worthsby?" Ffoulkes queried.

"That's the stuff, old boy!" Holte smiled.

"I knew you couldn't be such a good shot for nothing!" Lord Antony Dewhurst laughed.

"Bravo!" Lord Hastings exclaimed.

I was beginning to wonder what I had just agreed to, but the sight of pride on Blakeney's face as he studied me was enough to throw my cares to the wind. What did it matter anyway? As long as my hero was pleased with me, I had done something right.

"That's a good lad," he smiled at me. Then returning his gaze to all present in the room, he continued, "but in order for this to be possible, you must all swear an oath of unquestioning obedience to me as your leader in these matters."

How could I refuse? I hadn't the foggiest idea of what Percy was getting at, but I was sure that if he wanted my loyalty, then I'd be dashed if I didn't give it to him. I solemnly swore right along with the rest of the fellows present. The next thing I knew we had all promised to meet Percy on his yacht, The Daydream, at Dover in two days to await further instructions.

_Jolly good_, I thought to myself and left Blakeney's home with the others. Perhaps the slightest bit of discomfort had crept into my mind at that time as I chanced to consider the fact that I still didn't know what I had sworn to do, but it was easily discarded as requiring too much exertion and I was soon slumbering in my own bed in my apartments in London. Little did I know I had just agreed to embark upon the most exciting – and frightful – adventures of my useless life.

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**Pt II**

I slept through the first half of the next day and remained in bed for the latter, nursing a beastly headache. However, I did have consciousness sufficient to order my servants to pack my trunk. It is a nasty, awkward thing, packing a trunk when one has no idea of what he shall be doing or where he shall be going but still wants to be fashionably dressed for the occasion, and I am afraid my valet grew somewhat disgruntled at my lack of direction in his endeavors. However, it was all done well enough so that I had nearly one of everything and to safeguard against anything overlooked, I would bring a good quantity of gold along so I might purchase whatever was lacking. For my actual apparel, I would wear my best traveling suit and hope for the best. Indeed, I was beginning to feel well pleased with myself and a great deal more relieved by the end of that day. Certainly, whatever Blakeney had in mind, I would be able to present myself well and there would be no inconvenient surprises…

The first surprise happened shortly after I alighted from my carriage in Dover the next afternoon. After wending my way through the disgusting assemblage of sailors, menial workers, and other members of humanity that care not how they dress and who frequent the docks, I spied Lord Hastings and Sir Phillip Glynde standing near the moorings of Percy's yacht. They too were dressed in their finest travel attire, so that was a demmed relief, needless to say – at least I had done one thing right – but things were about to get very strange, very quickly.

"Hello chaps!" I greeted them, picking my way along the cleanest part of the dock. "Do you know if we are to put our trunks on board the yacht?"

"Trunks?" they exclaimed simultaneously – then dissolved into hearty laughter.

"Zounds, Worthsby you're too funny!" Glynde laughed and clapped me on the back. "Trunks? Ha ha! Lud what a good joke!"

"Come along and join the rest of us," Hastings managed after recovering his composure, "we're all waiting in the inn for the tide to change. Shouldn't be much longer now."

This response made me terribly uneasy, but I laughed a little too as best I could and followed them into the rustic little seaside inn known as 'The Fisherman's Rest'.

"One thing, er, f-fellows," I managed, trying to calm the bundle of nerves that my stomach had suddenly transformed into, "what will the servants th-think if I go somewhere w-without my trunk? They're really qu-quite liable to tell my old guv'nor." I rarely refer to my father as anything but 'the guv'nor', even in his presence. Tis rather more suiting, eh what?

Hastings paused and looked at Glynde, "I hadn't thought of that," he murmured.

"Yes but, really Charlie," Glynde took my shoulder, "you will have to confide sooner or later to your valet and bring him in on the secret. A trusted friend is necessary to assist you without questions and will capably be able to dispel servants' gossip should it ever arise."

"Oh yes, to be sure," I agreed, trying my best to look very knowing – all the while knowing as little as a chicken by a chopping block. "However, as I haven't let old Sam in yet, on the," and here I added great emphasis on the next word, "the _secret_," I winked afterward for good measure, "perhaps I should have him bring my trunk to the Daydream, eh?"

"What a smart fellow you are, Worthsby!" Hastings grinned. "You have him do that, and tell him to speak to my valet before he leaves. Wilfer can explain everything to him and ensure his secrecy."

"Much obliged, Hastings," I thanked him, "j-just give me a moment and I will join you shortly." All this secrecy was quite unnerving, and my legs would hardly bear my weight as I stumbled out of the inn and over to the stables where my valet was ensuring the horses were resting. I hardly remember what came out of my mouth as I told him his instructions. It must have been quite a stammered, disjointed mess, for the one thing I do remember is the very perplexed look on Sam's face as he stared at me, deciphering my attempts and wondering what the matter was.

I found my way back to my friends after this ordeal, and seated myself comfortably in the inn's public room where they were all drinking and toasting. Percy was not among us, it being understood he was already on board and making preparations.

"Off on a trip, young sirs?" the host, Jellyband inquired as he poured me a mug of ale.

"I-I-I, yes, w-well, th-that is t-to s-s-say…" I froze up and the color drained from my face like a guilty schoolboy's.

"A grand hunting party in the North Country!" Dewhurst exclaimed, saving me from further answer.

Relief surged through every part of my being as I heard the words. A hunting party! Of course! What a fine thing! I could relax now and enjoy the company of my friends while contemplating good sporting prospects. Soon I was making toasts to our success and to 'the League' we had apparently formed, right along with the best of them.

Indeed, surrounded by such camaraderie, I had never been happier. But my spirits were dealt a severe blow as we left for the Daydream at the turning of the tide. Sam, my valet, was waiting for me just outside the inn and approached me as soon as he saw me.

"Sir," he exclaimed earnestly, looking deep and admiringly into my countenance, "may I shake your hand?"

"Odd's fish, Sam," I blithered, taken aback at this display of unexpected – and unwarranted – devotion, "you may indeed."

"I thank ye sir!" He exclaimed, seizing my hand and shaking it firmly. "I was greatly mistaken in you, sir, I had taken you for a dimwit. You're a fine young man! There's not many as would do such a fine and noble and selfless thing as you are sir. I am honored to serve you and I hope as you know I will be faithful to you till the end. You may rely on me sir! Godspeed!"

What on earth was I to say to that?

"Sink me, dear man," I managed to squeak out, "tis nothing! I dare say I hardly merit such credit. 'Tis nothing!"

This only deepened the admiration in Sam's countenance and tears formed in his eyes as he tipped his hat and bowed, acknowledging my departure.

It was all beginning to seem like a terrible dream and I waxed seasick even before I set foot on the yacht. Once aboard, I trailed listlessly to the side of the deck and leaned against some rigging, trying to fathom the increasing perplexity of the situation. This was really not like Blakeney to be so unpredictable. Was this a hunting trip or was it not? Demme if I knew the answer. Fortunately, I was about to be relieved of any further mental exertion as Holte caught sight of me standing alone. Sir David Holte of Frogham, splendidly known as 'Froggie', was a fine chap but really never could keep quiet. My initial instinct upon being discovered by him was to speed off somewhere and look busy, but then, an unprecedented moment of brilliance overtook me. If I let Froggie just keep talking, I might learn the truth about this whole mess without ever having to reveal my ignorance to a single soul. The opportunity at that moment was priceless, and I took it.

"Worthsby!" Holte exclaimed, striding toward me. "Gadzooks but you look a bit green around the cravat. Have a pinch of snuff, it works wonders!"

I took the offered snuff gratefully and promptly sneezed.

Holte took some himself and continued. "Grand idea of Percy's, ain't it?" he grinned. "We'll show those Frenchies a thing or two, eh?"

"Oh yes," I agreed with about as much conviction as if I had complimented the Duke of York on a poorly cut waistcoat. Frenchies? What in the devil did they have to do with anything? Was the hunting party to be in France? Demmed dangerous with the revolution going on and all that, what?

"Just think," Holte beamed, "with Percy as our leader, disguised as the Scarlet Pimpernel and his league, we shall have all sorts of hairbreadth escapes and grand adventures – and in the greatest of causes no less!"

"To be sure," I assented, feeling an ill pallor creeping over me with every word Froggie spoke. He couldn't possibly mean that we were going to…

"Prancing into executions and prisons," he prattled on, "whisking innocent victims away from the jaws of the guillotine in daring rescues – right out from under the nose of the glorious new Republic – racing across the countryside, doing our part against tyranny, injustice, corruption…" Holte drew in a great breath of satisfaction. "No longer the soft life for us! We'll be out in the cold, the wind the elements, the – I say, Worthsby," he broke off suddenly, observing my countenance, "you look rather a bit offish just now. Is everything alright, old chap? More snuff?"

I did look a bit like a mausoleum inmate just then, and the only answer I could give my companion was a terrible groan as I seized the offered snuff and practically stuffed it up each nostril while I sought to find a way out of the mess I was fast sinking deeper into. So that was it. This was the great secret. Somehow, Blakeney, the fop, the prince of dandies, the reliably dimwitted imbecile pet of London society had schemed up a frightfully dangerous sounding sort of rescue effort for the French aristocracy. Soon we would be jeopardizing not only our lives, but our comfort, in a cause more foolhardy than Robin Hood and his band of merry men. Worse than that though was a thought that made my stomach grow cold as ice: I had given him my word of honor that I would join him and follow him loyally with implicit obedience. I may be a coward but I would rather die than go back on a word of honor, especially one made to Blakeney. I might as well renounce all society and enter a life of solitude as take back my word to him. It was this thought that froze my next words of disbelief and dismay right on the tip of my tongue. All I could do was pitiably groan again.

"I really do say, Charlie," Froggie stared aghast at my rapid deterioration, "anything I can do for you? Zounds but you don't look well!"

"My s-sm-smelling s-salts," I gasped out, fumbling with a pocket in my greatcoat.

Holte briefly raised an eyebrow before following my lead and retrieving the vial from my pocket.

I snatched up the article and uncorked it, taking a good whiff of the contents.

"Anything else I can do for you?" he pressed. "Should I see if Blakeney can't do something?"

"No!" I exclaimed promptly. "All I need is a moment's solitude. P-please…" I moaned and made as though I desperately needed to acquaint myself with the other side of the deck railing and the billowing sea below.

This action was enough to send Holte scurrying away, and I was granted the privacy I craved.

What was I to do? My first thought was to go immediately to Percy, confess the whole misunderstanding, and take my farewell as soon as the Daydream docked at her destination. But no! It could never be. Even the slightest hint at my dilemma would serve only to call my integrity into question. It was ghastly. I had never been lucky at anything in my life – except marksmanship, which had apparently only served me by getting me into this unlucky mess through acquaintance with Blakeney – and so I was used to mishaps and blunders, but of all the muddles I had ever gotten myself into, this was most certainly by far the worst. It might even be my last if all fared as I was sure it would.

The sudden feeling of a firm hand on my shoulder wrenched me from my thoughts and I turned to face the intruder.

It was Blakeney, and he looked, at that moment, anything but the fop I once knew. His eyes actually showed concern, and there was the devilish grin of an adventurer on his face.

I withdrew slightly, as guilt sickened me and I averted my gaze lest he guess at my thoughts. "Did Holte tell you to see me?" I muttered.

Blakeney laughed. "No, Worthsby, I had intended to talk with you at first opportunity, and well, here it is!"

"You d-don't doubt me?" I blurted hastily, darting a look of dismay at my friend.

"Odd's fish, man. Wouldn't dream of it," Blakeney smiled. "But, we all have our fears, 'tis only natural." He bestowed such a searching, knowing look upon me that I felt he could see into the deepest secrets of my heart.

"Oh, Percy!" I groaned, my pride caving easily to such sincerity. "I will follow you wherever you may lead – truly I shall – but I worry I shall serve only to bring everything to failure." I laughed bitterly. "You know my luck! Cards, women, life…I haven't an ounce of it. There are days I cannot tie my own cravat and I've been thrown at riding so many times it's a wonder my head hasn't come off my shoulders. Can't even insult a man without becoming a stammering fool. What a mess I will make of all your grand adventures!"

"La, man!" he returned heartily, taking my shoulder once more and looking me in the eyes, "Therein lies the beauty of it. You needn't worry about your own luck. You see, Chance is an unsightly old crone, toothless and bald but for one hair on her head, all one has to do is seize that hair and he'll find his way out of the thickest of scrapes. I have learned the knack of taking hold of that hair, and I promise, I will see you through whatever happens. All you have to do is follow my instructions to the letter, and all will be well. You'll see!"

Never in my life had anyone looked out for me. Since my boyhood days, if ever I followed a band of so-called friends into trouble, I was usually the one left behind to catch the punishment. It seemed my lot to suffer the disasters everyone else was so good at escaping. But Blakeney was different. Maybe he was right. Maybe he would see me through whatever happened. A devotion, stronger than all my fears began to surge through my being. I would follow this man wherever he led me and serve him to the very best of my inability! "Percy," I offered my hand, "I'm your man!"

Percy took it and we shook hands firmly.

As he left, I found I felt much better, and I repeated over and over to myself the words which had comforted me the most:

"All you have to do is follow my instructions to the letter, and all will be well. You'll see!"

Following instructions…What could possibly go wrong with that?


	2. The Beginning (pt 3)

**A/N:** Oh, by the way, I forgot to add that I love reviews! Please feel free to leave some for me. Thanks!

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**Pt III**

I was still repeating these words as I fumbled with the buttons of a hideously ragged garment, crouching with Percy and five others in a derelict old cottage some days later. Percy had a map spread out on the ground around which we all sat and on which he was detailing us his plans for the rescue of the D'Auvigné family: a Viscomte and his young wife and child.

"Now that the disguises have been distributed," Percy began, "everyone listen carefully to your instructions."

I felt my stomach tense as I heard the words. The long awaited and all-important instructions were finally upon me. The words that my life and honor depended upon. I leaned forward closer to concentrate my attention fully on the matter.

"The success of the scheme depends on two factors," he continued. "First, the actual rescue of the family from the Temple prison, then second, the speedy conveyance of the refugees across the countryside to where the Daydream awaits. The initial phase will require three of you to take positions in these locations here, and here…"

Something sharp bit me in the back of the neck, followed in quick succession by a bite to my side and several to my legs. I slapped at these, only to provoke more bites in various locations on my person. Annoyed and disturbed, I picked through my ragged excuse of a shirt and discovered the offenders responsible for the biting: fleas. Of course there would be fleas! I had been loath enough to don this filth as it was, casting aside my own fine attire only after a great deal of persuasion, and had I known of this infestation I would never have let a thread of it touch me. Where on earth had Percy gotten this miserable outfit anyway? I attempted to brush the disgusting little vermin off me but was interrupted as I remembered I needed to be listening to the instructions. Once again, I turned my attention to Percy and tried to ignore the continued biting.

"…and that will be the rendezvous point. Here is where I, Ffoulkes, Dewhurst, Glynde and the D'Auvigné family will meet Hastings, Devinne, and Worthsbyfeld with the carriage they will have procured as previously discussed. The timing is crucial…"

Another fleabite and another slap. Demme but those little beasts could really attack from anywhere! What was that about me helping to procure a carriage?

"But remember, if anything should go amiss, meeting at the rendezvous point is key, from there we may alter our plans if necessary. I -"

"Damn!" I swore as yet another flea bit me, interrupting Percy entirely and causing everyone to look my way.

"Anything the matter, Worthsby?" Percy inquired.

"Yes!" I whined, "Do you know, Blakeney, that these rags are filled with vermin? I can't take an-another moment of it I tell you!"

"Poor old Wordsbegone," smirked St. John Devinne from his position next to Andrew Ffoulkes. "Did you pick the one with the fleas?"

I bristled at the remark and grew a shade redder. Lord St. John Devinne, Earl of Welhaven, had never been a friend of mine. We had gone to school together at Harrow in our boyhood and shared the same dormitory where the spoiled young fellow had made me the easy butt of all his pranks and cruel jokes. 'Wordsbegone' was only one of his several names for me. I had always managed to keep my cautious distance from him even in Percy's circle of friends, but now realized, with some dread, that I would not be able to avoid him so easily in the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

"They all have fleas, Johnny!" Antony Dewhurst laughed at him. "Don't bother pretending yours don't! I should know, I was the one who scavenged up all these wretched cast-offs!"

"And that was a demmed unsporting way to talk to a good fellow like Charlie," Glynde added.

"What?" Devinne exclaimed with sarcastic surprise. "I've been calling him that since we were boys. He doesn't mind it I dare say!" He looked at me, obviously requesting my confirmation of his statement.

"Th-that's right," I grinned weakly, suppressing the heated words I would have preferred. As much as it was a kind thought of Glynde to stand up for me like that, I rather disliked others fighting my battles – particularly one I had been fighting and losing for so long – somehow it was much worse if they succeeded where I consistently failed.

Percy seemed not to miss a single thought in my mind and pressed on with the original subject at hand – the one thing I longed he would do. "Very well, you all have your instructions then. Are there any questions?"

Were there any questions? I had perhaps a million, but voiced the most concerning one, "Er, yes, that is to say, where is the rendezvous? I seem to have missed that part."

Devinne poorly suppressed a snort of laughter, and Sir Andrew gave me a look even more doubtful of my abilities than before, seeming to say, 'Did the sorry fellow understand anything at all?', but Blakeney was quite patient about it, and proceeded to show me once more on the map. "From where you will be coming with the carriage you will take the west road, cross two bridges, then cut across the field bordered by a grove of oak trees. There will be a stand of elm trees and this is where you will wait with Hastings and Devinne for me and the others to meet you. Have you got it now?"

I nodded thankfully but refrained from asking any other questions. I had risked enough scorn as it was. Maybe I could just follow Hastings and Devinne's lead and figure my way out through the rest of it.

Soon, I was tramping with the two across the soggy countryside in the direction of the small town of le Bré, or some other such French sounding name – can't quite remember the exact one. Catching snatches of Hastings and Devinne conversing amongst themselves revealed that we were commissioned to steal the mayor's carriage and team, it apparently being the fastest for miles around. Otherwise, Devinne spent most of the time talking about how he knew this area of France like the back of his hand, how he could speak French like a native, and all other such sorts of tediousness that left me more or less preoccupied with battling the last skirmishes of the fleas in my shirt. At last we arrived at the outskirts of the little town where we quickly spotted our quarry. Here was some good luck for us, the mayor's carriage was standing just outside the town hall with its team of four black horses harnessed and waiting. All we would have to do would be to drive it away. Of course, as Hastings pointed out, there were the driver and footman to consider, as well as the town citizens who might raise the alarm. A moment's further observation, however, revealed that luck was yet again in our favor, as the driver and footman, apparently tired of waiting by the carriage, slouched off to have some drinks at the café across the street.

"Splendid," Hastings murmured, gathering Devinne and me around him, "here's our plan. Worthsby, can you drive a carriage?"

"I -"

"Doubtfully," Devinne interrupted.

"Can you speak French?" Hastings pressed.

"Well -"

"Not a word," Devinne interrupted again, "unless you've been practicing since our schooldays!"

Hastings made a point of acting as though everything had been answered properly and continued. "Very well, here is what we shall do. Devinne, you'll drive and I will untie the horses. Worthsby, you take this rope and pass it through the handles of the town hall doors, tying them so that they won't open readily, thereby buying us more time to escape. It will all have to happen in one swift coordinated move, however. So, first, Worthsby will make his way to the door and begin his job as inconspicuously as possible, Devinne and I will approach the carriage nonchalantly from the other way. Worthsby, as soon as the doors are secure, raise your hand to signal us, then run like a madman for the carriage for at that selfsame moment, I will loose the horses and Devinne will take the driver's seat. We'll be at a gallop in under five seconds, with Devinne and me on the driver's seat and Worthsby either inside the carriage or on the footman's step. There will be no stopping until we reach the rendezvous point, though we may slow a bit to preserve the horses once out of chasing distance. Is everything clear?"

I nodded and took the rope as Devinne nudged me and smirked.

"Think you can manage to tie a knot, Worthless?" he murmured in my ear.

I knew my response would be nothing but stammered idiocy, so I said nothing to this and grimly set off to do my part. The street grew very long and menacing, the further I got from my companions, and the old, scuffed doors of the town hall rose like a great challenging beast. Failure leered at me, and my mouth grew dry, my hands shook and my knees weakened. _All you have to do is tie a knot_, I told myself, _you can tie knots. You're making much out of nothing. You can do this. Just tie the knot_. All this and more I emboldened myself with, finally attaining my goal. I slipped the rope through the two brass handles of the oaken double doors and fumbled with the ends, soon succeeding in tying a complex series of very secure knots. It was done! I looked eagerly over my shoulder and noted Devinne and Hastings were in their positions, awaiting my signal. I gave it quickly, raising my hand and sprinting toward the carriage as were my orders.

The two responded like lightning and all looked like it would be a great success, however, about half a foot into my dash I was choked around my midsection and whipped round to face the doors I had tied. What on earth? I stared aghast at my handiwork and realized that the rope which formed the belt holding up my oversized breaches had somehow found its way into my hands as I had tied the knots of the rope through the handles. I was impregnably fastened to the doors! Fear coursed through my veins as I tore at the ropes, seeking to extricate myself. I didn't care if I undid all my splendid efforts, I just wanted to be free!

It all happened in one terrible, perfectly timed, disastrous moment. My knots gave way, I pulled back to escape, the double doors swung open from the force, and the sounds of a carriage clattering away thundered off behind me. I was promptly treated to the sight of an entire town council leaping from their seats in the exposed main room of the town hall and yelling as they ran toward the doors, pointing at the fast-disappearing carriage. I turned and ran after the carriage too, waving and shouting with the best of them.

"Hastings! Devinne!" I hollered, pelting after them as fast as I could go. "Wait for me!"

Hastings' head appeared over the top, raising himself up from his perch on the driver's seat and grinning mischievously. He waved his hat and laughed triumphantly like a lusty adventurer at the rabble chasing after them, obviously delighted with the success of his plan. Then he saw me and his face froze with a look of horror. "Worthsby!" he called in disbelief.

"Wait for me!" I cried again, running harder.

Hastings took in the situation grimly. If they stopped, we would all be caught and the whole plan would fail. There was just no way to put the carriage within my reach without making it accessible to the entire mob of angry French citizens. I would have to be left behind. "We'll be back for you!" He called to me as the carriage pulled away. "Try to make your way to the rendezvous!"

Fortunately, the French were too busy chasing the carriage to notice my interaction with the thieves and gave me no trouble as I ran alongside them, pressing on as far as my legs would carry me. The carriage was soon lost to sight, but still I tramped on along with a few stubborn townspeople. Eventually, even these too gave up and turned back, shrugging at me as I staggered onward in my pursuit. At last I couldn't run anymore and my gait deteriorated into a feeble stroll as I gasped for air and tried to make sense of the landscape. The rendezvous…the all-important rendezvous. What a good thing it was that I had made sure Blakeney told me how to get to it. But shouldn't I have come upon a bridge by now? Was I even on the west road? Doubts swarmed round my head like flies and my pace slowed yet further as uncertainty forbade me to make speed in what might be the wrong direction. Suddenly, the sound of galloping horses approached me from behind and I turned around to find that I was being surrounded by a squadron of French soldiers.

"Citoyen!" The bedraggled officer hailed me. "Une voiture ne passe par cette voie?"

I stared blankly. Obviously he had asked some sort of question. Demmed if I knew what it was though.

"Citoyen!" he repeated, more harshly. "Une voiture!"

I was loath to make an answer, but I feared the officer would only get angrier if I didn't. Perhaps it was best to chance my French. "B-bohnjoor, Mohnsoor," I grinned, "C-c-como sav-v-vah?"

"Il est un idiot," murmured one of the soldiers to the officer.

"Ou un espion anglais," returned the officer, staring at me dubiously.

I had understood at least that either I was an idiot or an English spy. I opted for the former. "Wee. Jay swee un idiot," I affirmed.

I was an idiot all right, of that they seemed certain, but only an English idiot could pronounce French that badly. "You Eengleesh!" the officer declared. "Where eez you leader?"

"M-my leader?" I choked, discarding my French entirely as my secret was out, "I-I d-don't have one!" This was not looking good at all.

"You part of band of Eengleesh spies!" The officer insisted, "You help steal coach to rescue Ci-devant Viscomte D'Auvigné and ees fameely! Tell us where zey are and we no keel you!"

It was idiotic of me, but there was nothing else to do. I turned and ran.

The next thing I knew one of the soldiers had overtaken me on his horse and struck me on the head with the flat of his saber. Just like that I was captured. The soldiers seized me and dragged me off the road where they could interrogate me further.

I believe I have mentioned before that I am a coward? Well, nothing had changed, and I was quite a despicable wreck of whimpering tears by the time the officer accosted me again.

"Where ees you leader?" he yelled in my face. "Who ees he? Tell me queek!"

This was terrible. I had never wanted to be in any of this mess in the first place, and now I was going to die in it – and in the worst clothes for miles around. I couldn't bear it and wept harder.

"Nom de nom!" The officer swore. "Speeks to me or you die!" He followed this order with a strong blow of his fist to my face.

I cried out pitiably at the pain of my tender skin crushing under the force and reeled backward. Why was I putting up resistance like this? Resistance never did me much good before. I was never strong enough to keep it up. Eventually I would cave in to cowardice like I always did, only I would be in much worse shape by the time it finally happened. I lowered my eyes in shame and cried some more. Blood was dripping from my nose and onto my revolting shirt. Somehow this was fascinating to me and I studied it with interest. It occurred to me then that I hadn't just taken a blow for myself. I had taken it for Percy, for the league, for the innocent victims of the Revolution, for honor itself! Something snapped inside of me – besides my nose bone – and suddenly I was filled with a spirit quite unknown to me, but what could only be the lusty, courageous spirit known broadly by the name of Adventure. What glorious fun it was to tramp about the countryside in flea-infested rags, thwarting Frenchies and serving a heroic leader! Pride for Blakeney and for England swelled in my bosom. I might die today, but I would not go without a fight!

"Allons!" The officer continued to yell. "I no have patieence for zees!"

I laughed in his face and swung my fist into it, singing at the top of my lungs, "God save our gracious King! Long live our noble King!"

Two of the soldiers sprang up in the officer's place and after a mutual exchange of blows, I surprisingly gave as good as I got. I was actually starting to enjoy myself, even as I was collecting more bruises and cuts with every jab of my fist.

"God save the King!" I continued merrily. Several of the soldiers had pounced me at once now and I thrashed to free myself. "Send him victorious!" I belted out, knocking another Frenchie over and receiving a stunning blow to the back of my skull, "Happy and glo-orious!" I fought through the fog swimming in my head. More French soldiers were popping up out of nowhere and I proceeded to deal with them in the same way as their unfortunate predecessors. "Long to-o reign over us!" I caught one of the fellows full on the jaw and knocked him out cold with a single blow. "God save the King!" My consciousness was slipping from me as my head couldn't take much more of this sort of activity, but I still had enough left in me to take a swing at a rather big fellow pinning me down.

"Good God, Worthsby!" he exclaimed. "Cease fire! It's me, Blakeney!"

"Blakeney?" I gasped, feeling as though my senses must have taken their leave of me altogether, "How on earth?"

"Well, you patriotic devil, Hastings and Devinne told us what happened when they reached the rendezvous," he explained, "We disguised ourselves as soldiers and came back to find you in the clutches of the French. Though judging by your pugnacity with those soldiers, perhaps you didn't need our help as much as we'd thought. Not bad at singing either, what?"

My mind reeled, and a feeling of joy overtook me. Percy had kept his word to me. All would be well after all.

"Terribly sorry about all that," I grinned sheepishly as he helped me to my feet.

"Save your apologies for Devinne," Blakeney returned, nodding in the direction of the prostrate form of the supposed French soldier I had rendered unconscious. "I dare say his head will be sore for some time."

"That was Johnny?" I laughed delightedly. "Demdest stroke of luck, eh what?"

Percy's reply sounded very distant, and I could just make out that he was giving orders to Dewhurst and Ffoulkes to tie up the squadron of French soldiers and steal their horses. The next thing I knew I was waking up in the back of a jostling cart, staring at trees and a lovely blue sky.

"He certainly has more spirit than I credited him for, I'll say that much," I could hear what sounded like Sir Andrew's voice quite nearby.

"The lad has the heart of a lion," replied what sounded like Blakeney. "He's proved that this afternoon, more than amply."

"But nevertheless," Andrew continued, "I'm not sure he's cut out for this sort of thing. Now might be a good time to offer old Worthsby an honorary membership and return him to England for help on the home front, away from the hairbreadth danger we will continue to face here."

If such an offer had been made to me, even as recently as that morning, I would have sprang at the chance. But now things were different. Now the league was everything to me and I would die if I couldn't be a part of it. "No!" I cried, sitting bolt upright in the cart. My head responded by aching horribly, but I pressed on. "Please, Blakeney! D-don't send me away! It is monstrous unthinkable. Not now when I've only just realized what grand sport it all is! I'll try better next time, and I'll always follow your orders without question, nor will I shy away from danger. I'll wear the filthiest disguises – and I'll – I'll even practice my French! You will find in me one of your most loyal followers! Only please give me a second chance to prove myself worthy! I won't let you down next time."

Blakeney and Ffoulkes were sitting on the driver's box of the cart and turned to look at me as I spoke.

"What do you think, Andrew?" Blakeney grinned. "Just this morning I might have approved your proposal, but after today, I'd rather lose a hand than lose Charlie."

"I suppose a good showing like the one he made deserves another chance," Andrew acknowledged, winking at me.

A sudden groaning at my side made me realize that Devinne was laying in the straw next to me.

"What's going on?" he croaked.

"The fun is over and we're off to the secret hideout," Ffoulkes explained. "Glynde and Everingham are taking the coach with the D'Auvigné family to the Daydream and the whole rescue has been a marvelous success! We've even got Worthsby back."

"No, I meant, what were you all talking of just now?" he muttered.

"Only that we've all agreed that Worthsby remains in the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel," Ffoulkes replied.

"Damnation," Devinne groaned. "I was afraid of that."

"Don't worry, Johnny!" Blakeney called cheerfully. "We won't let him punch you again!"

I laughed with the others and began to feel like I had entered a glorious new beginning in which all my old troubles would be left far behind me.

It was a happy thought, and indeed, it turned out to be true, but little did I know the new troubles to come were destined to outdo all my others combined. There were many new and strange misadventures awaiting my performance. For indeed, it was only the beginning…


	3. Hag Havoc

**A/N: **_Thank you EVERYONE for the reviews! They make me very happy :D The more the merrier. Also, while I'm on that tangent, I must confess here that my knowledge of French is only marginally better than Worthsby's yet somehow I seem to keep incorporating it into the story. What you see here is the scattered remains of a slightly distant high-school education and a dictionary. Basically, if you're a French wiz, please feel free to point out any corrections you might feel appropriate. I will be eternally grateful _

**A Matter of Disguises and the Hag Havoc Incident**

In general, I'm not a quick learner by any stretch of the imagination, but I had not been a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel long before I realized I had a serious problem with recognizing Blakeney in disguise. At first, the inability was a demmned nuisance but then quickly presented itself as a nasty, tricky business that put me at a great disadvantage, since disguise was as equivocal to the Scarlet Pimpernel as cards were to a game of hazard. To make matters worse, Blakeney seemed particularly fond of disguising himself as the commonest of citizens. Ideally those he could find a ready crowd of to disappear into – usually quite disreputable workmen, soldiers, peasants, infirm cripples, elderly characters, or hags. Disguised as any of these he could attain a transformation so complete it was supernatural. But of all of these ruses, I found that of the hag to be the worst. Demme but if there weren't already hundreds of cackling, whiskery, witch-like crones running around Paris screeching "A bas les aristo! A la lanterne! Vive le Republique!" and other such epithets and curses at the top of their shrill lungs as they knitted and collected locks of decapitated nobility with their gnarled, bony hands. And when Percy transformed himself into one, naturally he made even the hoariest look like an amateur. This phenomenon ultimately led to the utter chaos and mayhem that have forever burned one particular incident into my memory. Zounds, but it seems to me monstrous unfair that the odds were set so hard against me. Looking back on it, I'm sure none of it would have happened had it not been for two events preceding it, but the 'Hag Havoc' incident as we would later dub it was nonetheless destined to be one of my most glorious demonstrations of ineptitude.

The first event that predisposed me to disaster was really nothing strange for any ordinary league member. Deciding that I would need to be eased more gently into league business after my first adventure, Percy gave me the position of courier with a mind to help me learn the layout of France, brush up on my French, and keep me out of danger's way for the time being. It was a good idea, truly it was, and in every respect ought to have worked splendidly – and so it did, at first. In response I dutifully fell to studying maps and started working with Armand to whittle my solid British accent down a bit. I even flattered myself that I was making progress of sorts – especially as I succeeded in conveying a few notes from league members to where Blakeney awaited in our temporary headquarters. But then came the instance I had to fetch a message from Blakeney while he was in disguise on the streets of Paris.

The message was certain to be rather vital – an aspect that put some pressure on my nerves – and was to be a bit of information Percy had spied out and needed to convey to Ffoulkes while remaining where he was in disguise to complete his own end of the planned rescue. Without the message, Ffoulkes would be unable to make the move necessary for success. The gravity of the situation with innocent lives in the balance was quite sufficient to overwhelm me with responsibility as I set out to meet Blakeney at the location appointed to me in previous instructions. He was to be disguised as an old man selling brooms in the Market Square. I was to approach and purchase a broom and within the broom I would find the paper I needed to deliver. These instructions were straightforward and I understood them well enough. I even managed to find the right corner of the marketplace and quickly spotted the broom maker in his stall off to the side of the square without difficulty. I took a breath to reassure myself and slouched forward nonchalantly, straightening the homespun shirt of my farmer's disguise. There was a bit of a crowd at the stall – apparently the price Percy had put on these brooms was quite a deal – and I only reached the stand after a bit of elbow shoving through housewives and scullery wenches. So it was that I did not have a moment to lay eyes on the character manning the stall until I opened my mouth to say my preplanned line in French. What I saw made me stop in horror. It wasn't Blakeney. It just couldn't be. The man I saw before me was genuinely old and wizened, his teeth were false, his hair was snow-white and appeared as thin strands emerging from under a Phrygian cap, and his voice was weak and broken. Blakeney couldn't possibly have contorted himself into such a character. Somehow I must have found the wrong broom stall which meant I must have misunderstood my instructions somewhere – sink me if I knew how – and would have to figure out a way to mend my error.

The fellow had just completed a sale with one of the women present when he turned to me and accosted me in perfect French. "Voulez-vous, Citoyen?"

I didn't have the heart to make use of my hard-practiced French and simply grinned weakly at the man, shook my head and backed away into the crowd as unobtrusively as possible.

"Mais Citoyen!" The broom man protested as I escaped. He waved an encouraging hand at me and held up a broom, "C'est bon, non?"

My heart began to race and my hands felt shaky. Why wouldn't he just leave me alone? Where in the devil was Percy? I shook my head once more and slouched off to the opposite side of the market place. A space between a fruit stand and a man selling chickens afforded me a place to lean against the wall of a building behind and collect my thoughts. I feverishly scanned the marketplace as I did. Somewhere there must be another broom stall, there just must be. But as the afternoon wore on and crowds came and went, it became obvious that there was only the one. Alas, there didn't seem to be anything else for me to do but keep watch on this stall, in the off chance that maybe Percy would turn up after all. So I surveyed the old man as he conducted business and sold most of his brooms, becoming ever more convinced that he could not be Blakeney. Sometimes, during slower periods, the fellow would look out across the market square and observe me quietly from under his bushy eyebrows, every now and then following the look with an inviting gesture to one of his brooms.

Perhaps it _was_ Percy, I thought to myself. It had to be Percy. But no sooner would I decide this in my mind and begin to advance toward the stall than the impossibility of it overwhelmed me again and I settled back against my place of observation.

At length, it was the old man who finally broke the stalemate of our mutual staring. He had sold all of his brooms by now, except for two shabby, half-crushed articles that could never fulfill their purpose of sweeping and were hardly fit to chase a cat with. Taking up these two he stepped out from behind his stall and approached some passersby in the market square, apparently offering them a good deal for the rubbish. However, even sans-culotte have some standards of cleanliness, apparently, for the old man's offer was rejected repeatedly by three different vagabonds.

I was just thinking to myself that I had better accept my failure and report off to Andrew anyways so that there would at least still be time for him to remedy my blunder when suddenly, the broom-man walked straight toward me. With a pang of fear I realized that I had no escape as I was hemmed in on both sides by stalls and from behind by the wall of a building. If I ran forward, I would have to brush past the old man and make myself very conspicuous in my avoidance of him, attracting all sorts of suspicion. I decided immediately that I would just have to buy the brooms after all – if only to get rid of the fellow so I could get out of there.

I began to fumble with the coin purse in my pocket as he tottered right up to me.

"Citoyen," he began, brandishing a broom, "voila!" Then he leaned in closer, "Gadzooks Worthsby, what are you playing at? We've wasted half a day at this."

The surprise was so complete that a small shriek escaped my lips before I could stop it and I recoiled visibly, but fortunately I had the wits to disguise it all into a stupendous sneeze at the end, resulting in a sort of "Eeeeeeaachoo!" that managed to divert the attention it had grabbed from the remaining market-goers. "Blakeney?" I gasped, burying my nose in my sleeve to complete the mock sneeze and cover my astonishment.

The old man's features broke into a hearty grin, and his blue eyes twinkled with the familiarity of my leader. A suppressed chuckle began to shake his shoulders and had it not been for our location, I knew Blakeney would have burst out laughing as only he could do. "You really didn't recognize me, then?" He smothered another laugh. "Lud, Worthsby, I detailed the whole thing out to you, didn't I? And even if it hadn't been me, what's the harm of buying a broom just to find out? It really is imperative that you trust my instructions and follow them implicitly next time. Now here," he handed me both brooms, "take these and hurry off to Ffoulkes. You'll have just enough time to reach him if you go quickly. Our plan should still work."

"I'm sorry," I mumbled dejectedly, taking the brooms and making a pretense of paying Blakeney.

"There, there," Percy grinned. "You're getting the hang of it, old boy. Just remember, next time follow through with my instructions, even if it seems like the last thing you should do."

"Right," I nodded.

Blakeney tottered back to his stall to close up and I strode off to complete the rest of my mission – which fortunately ended in success.

This event alone would not have created the incident that was to follow. Indeed, what really precipitated the majority of the disaster can be blamed primarily on the second event. Unlike the first, which was more routine league business than not, this episode was rather more sinister. It was a mission in which I had been given verbal instructions from Blakeney to deliver to Devinne who was in disguise as a soldier by the Paris wall that evening. I had no real qualms about this, it ought to be straightforward enough, though I did dislike the idea of having interaction with Devinne. But this was my only worry as I approached the location I was to find him in and spotted him quickly enough. No need to fret about complex disguises here. He was cleaning a firearm and looked just like Devinne would look if he dressed up as a ragtag French soldier and stopped shaving for several days. I approached him casually and leaned against the wall next to him in the gathering shadows of night. There was no one near to hear us, so I spoke quietly to him in English.

"Johnny," I murmured the instructions I had been given, "Blakeney says it is to be a donkey cart with rubbish in it. It will come through at quarter past ten tomorrow morning. Don't forget to fix the theater knife as your bayonet for searching the cart. Your departure from the gate will be as before – none of those plans have changed. Have you got it?"

Devinne stared at me blankly and a strange look came over his face. "Quoi?" he asked, starting to look rather suspicious.

"E-enough of th-that," I stammered, feeling a little shaken, and tried to get a better look at my supposed comrade's face in the darkness. Devinne _was_ beginning to look very strange. "Be a sensible f-fellow and let me know if-if you've g-g-got it."

"Pourquoi parlez-vous anglais?" he accosted me angrily, straightening up and looking quite menacing.

"Demmit, Johnny," I protested, "s-stop it this in-instant!"

"Espion anglais!" the soldier insisted.

I paled and took a step back in fear. The whole situation was impossibly unreal, but somehow I must have found a genuine French soldier who looked exactly like Devinne. Hardly able to believe my own stupidity, I started to bolt off when a helpless laugh stopped me in my tracks.

"Oh ho ho ho!" Devinne laughed. "You should have seen the look on your face!" Tears streamed down his unshaved cheeks as he held onto his rifle to keep from collapsing with gaiety. "What a good joke!"

I scowled. "Y-you're lucky I did-didn't punch you out ag-g-gain!" I retorted hotly.

Devinne just continued to laugh desperately.

"Well," I snorted, "you have your instructions. I h-however have better th-things to do with my time." I turned on my heel and strode off, leaving Devinne behind in the throes of laughter.

I would have complained of the incident to Blakeney, but I disliked to snitch – even if it was on Devinne – and so the matter was never revealed or put to rights. This was destined to be a mistake as I found out on the day Tony had a message he needed delivered to Percy.

"You'll find him disguised as an old hag," Tony informed me as he folded up a script of paper and pressed it into my hand.

Poor Tony, I dare say he would not have used such confident language if he could only have known what was to come.

"At about this time of day he should be in the vicinity of the Rue de la Savonnerie. Do you remember where that is?"

I thought I might, but just to be safe, I shook my head.

"It is near the Place de la Greve," he said. "From there follow the Seine downstream until you pass two bridges, then turn left and just keep going, eventually you will find the Savonnerie. Blakeney should not be far off."

I nodded my understanding and shoved the paper into the pocket of my tattered coat, hastening off to do as I was bidden.

"Worthsby, wait!" Dewhurst called to me just as I made it to the bottom of the rickety staircase in our lodgings.

I looked back up to see him waving his paper at me.

"Zounds man!" he laughed, "but I do believe you have a hole in your pocket!"

I thrust my hand back in and ascertained the truth of his words. "Demme," I swore, "that means I've lost my snuff too."

"Well that's a pity," Tony commiserated as I trotted back up the steps to retrieve the message. "But you know what Percy says about carrying personal articles while in disguise, you hopeless sybarite – not a good idea, you know. Here," he advised as I took the paper once more, "better just hold on to it. Good luck!"

I disliked the Place de la Greve – in fact the whole nasty place was enough to make me feel ill, what with all the executions and gore to be found there on a daily basis, courtesy of Madame la Guillotine – so I only approached as near as I dared before making use of Dewhurst's directions. Even with this precaution, however, I could still hear the rabid cries of the bloodthirsty crowd cheering as some victim of their wrath perished beneath the blade. It was a sobering noise and I wondered if it had indeed been a murderous persecutor of the people who lay dead now, or if rather it had been some poor unfortunate soul innocently caught up in circumstances beyond their control. It might even have been a child… This terrible thought served amply to remind me of why I was where I was just then and not sipping punch at a delightful garden party back home. Here my life had unprecedented purpose, risking my sorry neck for the helpless and innocent. Here, what I did could make a fathomless difference in matters of life and death itself – choosing between cuts of clothes paled by comparison.

Suddenly, I realized I had passed the second bridge over the Seine and I turned quickly down the next street, thankful that my deep study had not sent me absently to the other side of Paris before I came to. This next part would be a little tricky, though. Streets rarely ever ran at straight angles in Paris, and sometimes it was hard to tell if a street had turned or simply connected to a new street altogether. Street signs were nearly just as complex, appearing only sporadically and nailed to buildings in such secretive locations that I personally entertained the idea that whoever had installed them was possessed of a particularly sadistic sense of humor – or perhaps he had simply been thoroughly intoxicated. Alas, even if I was ever so fortunate as to actually locate one of hidden wonders, I couldn't even then be sure of which street it belonged to, as it was, more likely than not, nailed to the most non-committal angle of the building, seeming to say "I might be for this street here, but I haven't made up my mind and in fact am considering the one just to the right". It was very frustrating, but Sir Andrew had told me the best way to deal with this predicament was to foster a sense of instinct so that one did not need signs by which to guide him. I doubted my ability to do this, but I had no choice and sought to follow this advice now, aiming in the general direction of where the Rue de la Savonnerie ought to be.

Great was my delight when I spotted a sign nailed nearby stating: R. dela Savonnerie. Blakeney must be near! Indeed, I had only to look over my shoulder to spot a hag sitting on an old overturned bucket by the gutter. She was sorting through wilted and moldy objects that had once grown in a garden and had borne the name of vegetables, while muttering to herself and spitting occasionally.

I paused and admired the perfection of Blakeney's disguise for a moment. How exactly he had captured the decrepit and wiry frame, the twisted shoulders, the pointy chin, hooked nose and colorless hair of the Parisian hag. Even as I studied him, I had to resist the thought that the creature looked absolutely _nothing_ like Blakeney – or even anything I thought he could ever achieve – lest I make the same mistake as I had before with the broom seller's disguise. I approached him confidently and stood beside his withered, hunched-over form, picking up one of the rotted vegetables and inspecting it as I spoke quietly.

"Gadzooks, Blakeney, but you look positively vile! My hat's off to you, old fellow, couldn't recognize you to save my life."

Blakeney looked up and regarded me with nasty little beady eyes that glittered with suspicion. "Quoi?" he rasped out in shrill, broken tones, displaying one lonely tooth protruding from his gums.

I laughed. "Don't even try that one on me – Devinne already pulled that trick and I won't be fooled again. Here," I secretively slipped the note behind the vegetable and handed it back to him – a maneuver Andrew had drilled me in to perfection, "it's from Tony."

The hag took the offered parcel and quickly discovered the note.

My mission now accomplished, I murmured, "Godspeed!" and ambled off in the direction of our lodgings, feeling inordinately pleased with myself. A backward glance revealed that he had perused the note – perhaps a little over-conspicuously, but then who was I to dictate secrecy to him? – and risen to his feet, shuffling off with great haste in the opposite direction. Perhaps the message had been rather urgent. I felt even more pleased with myself and indulged in taking a seat by the river to enjoy the fine weather as a reward. At last, without hitch or error, I had succeeded in following instructions and genuinely assisted Blakeney and our noble cause! Things were finally beginning to take a turn for the better. Perhaps soon I would even be entrusted with more intricate and dangerous missions if I could continue to prove myself in this manner. These thoughts were pleasing to me and I must have spent nearly an hour daydreaming and savoring them when I was rudely jolted back to reality by a startling sound.

Echoing down the streets – primarily from the direction of the Place de la Greve – came a noise such as might issue from the jaws of hell if all the souls contained therein were to shriek in unison. It was a hideous wail of terror and dismay, rising from scores of raspy throats. The effect was quite unnerving and shattered the peace I had been basking in. I rose to my feet in uncertainty and resumed my trek back to my quarters. As I left the banks of the Seine and entered the heart of Paris once more, I quickly discovered the cause of the din.

It was the hags of Paris.

There, before my bewildered eyes, was every shape and form of hag known to mankind running pell-mell every which way up and down the streets throwing their knitting and aristo's locks to the breeze as they did. Running after them in hot pursuit were the Revolutionary Guard. My jaw dropped and I gawked as soldiers seized France's most loyal revolutionaries and hustled them into carts. They were arresting all the hags! My bewilderment was great and I barely had the wits to step out of the way as a shrieking witch-like creature clawed her way past me in terror – closely shadowed by two soldiers.

Never had I seen such utter chaos. Officers on horses rode past, decreeing: "Arrêter les Vielle!" and barking out commands to their contingents. Passersby screamed, windows were smashed, and carts were overturned as the hags fled in desperation, careless of obstacles.

I began to feel an ill nausea sinking in my depths as I could only wonder, _Was this something I had caused_? It certainly looked like it, and if it was true, then it was the biggest disaster I had ever succeeded in instigating. My worst fears were confirmed as two officers leading a hag between them turned down the street in front of me and began to approach. It was the hag I had spoken to earlier – it was Blakeney. He had been arrested! I must have unwittingly broken his cover when I had delivered my message. With my heart in my mouth, I started to run toward the group, hoping to feign familial attachment as some sort of ruse to free him when I received an even greater surprise.

The hag had caught sight of me and began to point excitedly and screech at the officers. "Voila le espion anglais!" In a moment, they had abandoned her and were hard after me.

Either it wasn't Blakeney, or he had just come up with an excellent plan for getting rid of me. At this point I could believe anything to be possible.

This new turn of events was a terrible thing, worse than my most hideous nightmare, and had by now so far exceeded all bounds of logic that I ceased thinking and simply turned and ran. I leapt around soldiers, stumbled over hags, and hurtled down streets that I no longer recognized, not knowing what I was to do but to keep running. Suddenly, as I raced around a particularly sharp corner, an arm snaked out from an alleyway and yanked me in with surprising strength. It was another decrepit old hag, crouching behind a rain barrel. She raised a bony finger in a gesture of silence as a cry of surprise and resistance obviously rose to my lips and she motioned to me to crouch beside her. At this point, I was beyond objections and gratefully slipped in next to her, breathing a sigh of relief as my two pursuers raced obliviously past our hiding place.

"Merci, Madame," I tipped my hat and leapt back out to the street to continue my escape. My run was short-lived though as the old crone had seized me by my tattered shirt in an attempt to keep me in place. Unfortunately, the ragged garment gave way from the force and so the effort only served to throw me face-first to the street, somewhat less clothed than before. The first sight I saw as I peeled myself off the cobblestones was that of the two soldiers doubling back and catching sight of me. Stupidly, I turned to run back into the alley, succeeding only in running straight into the hag. She caught me up by the back of what remained of my shirt and started to run, dragging me along beside her and away from the pursuing soldiers.

"Run, Worthsby, for God's sake!" she hissed.

My sanity tottered and my knees weakened at the sound of Blakeney's voice, obliging him to put an arm under my shoulders to support me as we fled. "Blakeney," I moaned, "wh-what on earth?"

"Don't talk just now," he replied, "run like you've never had to run for your life before! Follow me closely!"

His words were strong and comforting, and had the effect of calming me into obedience. Soon I was pelting along at his side as he slipped us through alleys, in and out of buildings and ducked us through well-trafficked streets. At last, we came to rest in the cellar of one of our safe locations after Blakeney was certain we had shaken our pursuers. We sat a moment in silence as we caught our breath – or I did, for Blakeney looked just as fresh as if he had awoken from a nap – and sprawled out on the odds and ends of cast-off rubbish that littered the area. Then, a chuckle shook Blakeney, growing soon to a hearty laugh as he threw back his head and let the merriment of it ring freely.

"Gad Worthsby!" he exclaimed, pulling off his hag's wig and false nose, "You add an entirely new level of sport to these adventures of ours!" he laughed some more. "Sink me but I haven't had such grand fun since I was a lad!"

"What… did I… do wrong… this time?" I gasped out.

Blakeney regarded me lazily from under half-closed eyelids. "Well, sink me old chap, but the first deviation from normal procedure occurred when you delivered your message to the wrong hag. It seems she went straight to the Committee of Public Safety as soon as she ascertained she had been accosted by an Englishman with a message. It didn't take much for the chief of security to infer that the Scarlet Pimpernel must be in disguise as a hag and – perhaps overdoing things just a bit – promptly ordered that every hag in Paris be arrested and subjected to investigation in hopes of catching me. I learned this much from overhearing the commands of an officer near to me in the fray as the chaos broke loose. I was able to escape my pursuers pretty rapidly and observed the predicament you had gotten yourself into. The rest, well, I suppose you may deduce yourself."

"Has the message compromised us by falling into the hands of the French?" I groaned.

"I believe we have seen the worst of it," Blakeney grinned. "Who was it from? Probably Dewhurst, and he will have followed his instructions not to put in anything that might compromise identity. At worst, we will have to alter our plans based off whatever message happened to be contained in that paper. Who knows? Perhaps we can even use this to our advantage. But really, Worthsby," he added, "what made you give the message to that old crone in the first place? She looked nothing like me."

"She was wh-where you were su-sup-posed to be!" I practically growled. "And you _never_ l-look like yourself wh-when y-you're in disguise!"

"Demmed sorry," he smiled apologetically, "but I suppose you are right – for the most part. My disguises are very good if I do say so myself and you _were_ indeed supposed to find me on the Rue de la Savonnie, but, unless I am much mistaken," his eyes twinkled with mirth and he tapped me chidingly on the shoulder, "you picked up that old witch on the corner of the nearby Rue de Garconé."

I groaned again and put my head in my hands. It was hopeless. I was never going to get anything right. Now I could add those confounded street signs to my ever-growing list of problems.

"There, there," Blakeney consoled. "As I said, t'was the best sport I've had yet – Tony's going to be quite jealous when we tell him, you know. Come on, let's head back now, it's getting dark enough I think we can risk a stroll. I'll wager you twenty pounds he will be sorry to have missed it!" He laughed again. "Zounds, Worthsby!" He paused to laugh some more, "To see all those hags on the run from their precious government!" He could hardly draw breath for laughing now as he was overcome with the memory, "I would not take half the riches of the world to have forgone that moment! You saw it, Worthsby, never was there such a bedlam since the time the Earl of Chester's hounds got loose in Lady Albemarle's garden party!"

His laugh was so infectious and full of good-humor that soon, I could not help but join him.


End file.
